


ruined nights make for perfect first dates

by NoGood_InGoodbye



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/F, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Restaurants, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 19:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12711291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoGood_InGoodbye/pseuds/NoGood_InGoodbye
Summary: Abandoning all notion of reason and logic, Beca stood from her solo table in the corner and strode over with all the confidence she didn’t carry and flashed the pretty redhead a grin.Or: Chloe gets stood up, lame ass excuses are made, and Beca (kind of) has game.





	ruined nights make for perfect first dates

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I _know_ I promised some sort of long ass hiatus and I should _not_ be lurking or online or even _posting_ but fucking shit **THANK YOU** to everyone who's read my works because one (or two?) of them have gotten 1000 hits and Lost In love hit 2000 and I'm just so happy and thankful so here's a really REALLY little fic to show my utter appreciation.
> 
> Again, thanks so much fam!!! (Also, don't count on my hiatus. I'm absolute trash for this fandom and ship and just might fail uni because of it [like seriously, I am 5000 words in that Christmas fic I promised y'all, someone help me stAHP - also, I'm looking for a beta for that fic so if anyone's interested, just comment below!])
> 
>  **Fic Prompt:** Imagine person A of your otp is waiting at a restaurant for their date and is obviously being stood up and person B notices this, just before person A gets sick of waiting and gets up to leave person B sits with them, and even though they aren’t who person A was waiting for they end up having a lot of fun and hooking up.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Pitch Perfect or any of the whatever stuffs I don't own. And this is still unedited so tell me if you spot anything!

37 minutes.

Beca had been watching the redhead play with her utensils and draw faces on her glass for 37 minutes. It was hard not to notice the fiery hair that swayed to every song the pianist played and the warm blue eyes that would jump to the doors every time it opened. It amazed the brunette, how long the redhead had managed to entertain herself while she was clearly being stood up—it amazed the little DJ even _more_ that the girl had held up hope for more than half an hour.

It made her heart ache for the girl when she saw the light so bright in her eyes start to dim (which, what the _fuck_? Beca did not _sympathize_ for people, much less _feel_ for pretty redheads who sat three tables away) every time the door opened to reveal another disappointment (and thank _god_ she’d arrived before the woman, she’d hate to have seen the disappointment flash through ocean orbs).

It made something strange itch in her stomach and her fingers tap a giddy beat at the way the redhead (very slightly, you wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren't paying rapt attention) tensed the fourth time the server had made their way to her. She could see the resignation slowly slipping into her smile and watched the redhead check her phone one more time before slipping it into her purse and sliding her way out of her seat.

For once, she was grateful for the restaurant’s slow-ass service. The twenty minutes she’d been waiting for just her appetizer flew past, watching the woman across the restaurant fidget and now, get ready to leave.

Abandoning all notion of reason and logic, Beca stood from her solo table in the corner and strode over with all the confidence she _didn’t_ carry and flashed the pretty redhead a grin. “Sorry, I got so caught up with Candy Crush that I forgot to text that I was here. Horrible excuse, so let me pay for this one, yeah?”

As she slipped into the seat right across the redhead, Beca found herself frozen under deep blue eyes. (What the hell? How could her eyes get any _bluer_?) The brunette’s grin shifted into an uneasy smile, shuffling in her seat for a few seconds as the redhead blinked owlishly—big blue eyes swirling through emotions. Two blinks then she was back.

The redhead grinned brightly (and nearly blinded her and caused a heart attack. Her smile must be animated, it’s too fucking perfect to be real), the light slowly returning to her eyes as she slipped back into her seat. “Right. Hi.”

The two-word reply brought out a slow smirk from the other woman, icy blue eyes melting warmly at the slightly dumbfound expression on the redhead (it was like watching a lost puppy—really fucking adorable). “Hi. So, what are you going to order?”

The redhead leaned forward in reply, Beca following suit (it was some sort of magnetic pull, really. The DJ _liked_ her personal space, but the redhead seemed to be drawing her in) until the other woman could whisper, “Um, I think _I_ should be the one paying. You’re kind of saving me here.”

Beca replied with a toothy grin and a roll of her eyes. “You’re the one who needs a pick-me-up. Think of it as payment for letting me crash your night.”

A grateful smile bloomed on the redhead’s face (and holy _shit_. If she thought her grin was blinding before, then adding _feelings_ to it was heart-stopping) before it flitted back to a frown (fuck). “But what about _your_ night? I’m not disturbing anything, am I?”

The brunette’s smile softened as she shook her head. “You saved me the trouble of enjoying my mozzarella sticks and salmon white pasta all by my lonesome.”

The redhead’s frown quirked into an amused smirk (what the hell even her _smirks_ were sexy) as she leaned back, nodding as she waved for a menu. She opened it without a second thought, pointing to one of the main dishes as she ordered on the spot, “Alright then, I’ll have this one and a bottle of red wine, please.”

The waitress nodded before disappearing and the redhead turned back to the brunette, smile bright as she offered her hand (smooth, soft, and small). “Chloe.”

The brunette took it with a smirk. “Beca.”

Chloe pulled her hand back, replacing the empty space with her whole body as she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, fingers intertwining as she rested her chin on them (she stomped down the urge to whip out her phone and take a picture). “So, Beca.”

“Chloe.”

“Do you always eat in fancy restaurants alone?” the redhead teased, smirk slanting her lips as she tilted her head.

“My coworkers like to drink themselves dead when celebrating, I prefer some good mozzarella and expertly cooked salmon.”

“You’re celebrating?”

“Oh,” the brunette shifted in her seat, eyes falling to the table napkin as her pointer played absentmindedly with her thumb ring (this is why she was celebrating alone—because gorgeous redheads would not have flustered her or distracted her from her dinner). “Uh, yeah. Kind of, I guess. My team and I just finished a big project so, you know, celebrating.”

The redhead grinned at the other woman’s obvious discomfort. “Is it a top secret project?”

“Um, no? Not _top_ secret, but we’re kind of under contract not to talk about it until it’s released.”

“Is it a movie?”

Beca’s face scrunched up (movies? What the fuck? She did _not_ do _movies_ ), head shaking as a soft chuckle escaped. “No, I’m a music producer.”

“I love music!” the redhead lit up as her smile blinded half the restaurant.

Beca shook her head. “I mean, this is only the third album I’ve ever really produced myself but—”

“I’m sure it’s _amazing_ ,” Chloe laid an encouraging hand over the brunette’s fiddling one, smile still blinding as her thumb traced lazy circles on the back of Beca’s hand (and her heart sped at every curve she covered). “Maybe I’ve heard some of your stuff before! What have you made?”

A sheepish smile graced the brunette’s face as she tried not to squirm under the praise or pull away from the redhead’s soft touch. It was weird (weirder than the time she and Jesse had dated) but—nice. She softly listed the albums, “Uh, Emily Junk’s first album, _Haiz_ , Cynthia-Rose Adams’ album, _Miss Cynthia-Rose_ , and, well, the latest one’s still a secret.”

“Aca- _scuse me_?!” the redhead looked ready to explode, bouncing in her seat as she grabbed hold of Beca’s hand. “ _You're_ Beca Mitchell?! DJ turned music producer? The one who mixed Titanium with 500 miles?!”

“Um, yes?” the brunette was still processing the use of ‘aca’ as a prefix (her ex had done the same thing, except Jesse made it sound _awful_. Chloe just made it a bit too adorable).

“I _love_ your mixes! I’ve been listening to you since your Jay-z and Bird mix. I _love_ your work!”

“Oh, wow, now I feel bad I didn’t do a background check on you.”

The redhead smiled sheepishly, a faint blush dusting her cheeks before she shook her head and grinned. The redhead gently squeezed the hand she was still holding, “No need. I’m Chloe Beale, 25 years old. I grew up in Tampa, Florida and I moved here after I graduated from Barden University with a degree in literature and education and I’ve been a literature and substitute music teacher in Lincoln High School for three years.”

An amused smile tilted the brunette’s lips as cold blue eyes glowed in reply. Beca leaning forward as her voice turned wistfully amused, “ _I_ went to Lincoln, way back when.”

The redhead lit up. “Really? Did it have those ugly-ass curtains in the auditorium back then, too?”

The brunette laughed, an obvious fondness at the memory of said curtains (spray paint and cigarette lighters did not go hand in hand, apparently). “ _We_ were the reason those curtains had to be changed—junior year. Fun shit.”

The redhead leaned forward, eyes twinkling an impossible blue as she whispered—almost conspiratorially. “Tell me _everything_.”

And that was how the brunette had turned an impossibly beautiful redhead's night around. She’d willingly shared her mozzarella sticks with her (a true test of her growing affection for the woman) and had exchanged stories with the woman until the restaurant was waiting for them to finally finish their meals.

Everything about Chloe Beale was enchanting. Her bright blue eyes twinkled in the low light of the restaurant as her hands flew left and right while she spoke. Her laughter ranged from soft, gentle chuckles to full-bodied laughs—head thrown back as her hand gripped hers tighter to keep from falling. Her voice lilted at funny stories and she sung softly to the music playing from the piano whenever a comfortable lull enveloped them while eating. The brunette didn’t really want the night to end.

After finally paying the bill, the DJ let the redhead wrap her arms around her as they exited the restaurant, the late night air falling softly around them as Beca turned to the older woman.

The brunette’s brows furrowed gently. “How’d you get here?”

“I, ah, took the bus. My place isn’t really that far from here so it’s okay.”

“Nope, I’m driving you. Come on.”

“Why, Ms. Mitchell, are you trying to kidnap me?”

“I’d hold you for ransom, but I’m pretty sure I’d be the one paying it anyways.”

“Do I already have the great Beca Effin’ Mitchell wrapped around my pinky?”

“I mean, it’s your loss if that’s the only thing you want me wrapped around…”

The redhead tripped to a stop, cold, steady fingers curling around her hands to keep her steady. The older woman straightened before looking at the brunette, a light blush marring her cheeks as she asked, “Are you flirting with me?”

The brunette smirked (it was strange how certain and confident the DJ felt. Maybe it was the way her own cheeks were overheating, or how the lamplight gave the angel a literal _halo_ , or how she was certain her future songs would include bright blue eyes and blinding white smiles and burning red hair). “I thought I was being obvious.”

The redhead laughed, shaking her head as she continued their walk to the brunette’s car. “I just wanted to be sure.” She paused in front of the car, tilting her head as she turned to the brunette who had just pulled away and was fishing for the keys out of her pocket. “I kind of like you, you know.”

“Well, I hope that ‘kind of’ is enough to earn me your phone number? Because I _really_ like you and would like to take you on a proper date—you know, one that isn’t because of asshats who ditch on gorgeous redheads.”

The redhead giggled (how the fuck hasn’t Disney found their next princess?) as Beca finally found her keys and unlocked the door, pulling it open for the beaming teacher. “As long as it’ll be _my_ treat next time.”

“So long as there’s a next time, I don’t mind.”


End file.
